


Wherever I'm With You

by cymraeg



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymraeg/pseuds/cymraeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>From a prompt on the kinkmeme, asking for Aveline/Donnic fluff. This assumes that the two of them were married before the Qunari attacks, because it works better that way.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Qunari have left Kirkwall a hell of a mess, and someone's got to clean it up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherever I'm With You

It’s the marigolds that refuse to leave her mind.

Such a small loss, compared to everything else going on in the city today, and Aveline doesn’t give voice to it, but her eyes are caught by the sight of the kicked-over pots where the marigolds had just been coming into bloom; the young plants now mashed into the paving along with blood and soot and whatever else happened to be dashed to the ground last night.

Donnic lays a gloved hand on the back of her neck as they survey the wreck of their home.  “It’s all repairable with a little time, love,” he tells her. Their tiny home has been ransacked and every room overturned in the chaos of the Qunari attacks, but at least it hasn’t been burned, and there’s nothing irreplaceable. _Except my marigolds,_ she thinks, and then squashes the thought.

The Qunari have left Kirkwall, striding proudly out of the city as if they weren’t leaving the bodies of half their number, including their Arishok, behind. Aveline watched the last of them go at dawn, an hour ago; already exhausted from the night of fighting, running and fighting again. The final confrontation in the Viscount’s keep has been followed by hours of hoarse shouting and organizing as fire brigades were formed and medical teams dispersed. There’s still so much to be done – hours and days worth of work, but Aveline had hoped to take at least a few minutes to regroup in the comfort of her home. It isn’t big, but it’s the one she share with Donnic, like she’d never been able to with Wesley. Their _first_ home, where it could be just the two of them, engrossed in each other or talking through the day’s events or reading or sleeping or anything they wanted to do. It’s the place where they’ve started to learn each other as husband and wife. The place she planted marigolds.

Aveline shakes herself. _No good crying over spilt milk_ , she thinks grimly. Such maudlin overthinking isn’t like her, but she’s very tired, and it will be a long time before she has a chance to rest.

A shout from down the street draws her attention. “Guard-Captain! The fire’s flaring up in the Alienage again, we need to move one of the fire brigades over there!” Sighing, she turns toward the voice, but is stopped briefly as Donnic lays a soft kiss on her temple.

“I’ll salvage some things here and take them to the guard barracks. We’ll need to stay there until this can be repaired.”

“Thank you, love,” she says gratefully, before hurrying off to attend to her duties. She tries to put the marigolds out of her mind.

***

The sun is going down again, a full day after the beginning of the attack, as Aveline drags herself toward the steps of the Viscount’s keep. She hesitates at the Hawke mansion. She knows Hawke is recovering and hasn’t intended to intrude until things are more settled, but she's daunted by the massive pile of steps leading up to the keep. They’ve never looked so tall or steep. At least there are no Qunari waiting at the top to kill her tonight. Almost without her volition, her steps turn toward the mansion.

Bodahn ushers her inside almost as soon as she can knock, and Aveline is struck by the surreality of the mansion’s interior. Inside here you’d never know how chaotic the last 24 hours have been for the rest of the city. The calming familiarity of it soothes her mind somewhat but also has the effect of making her even more aware of her bone deep exhaustion. She grips the banister tightly as she climbs to the upper floor, wondering if she’s going to make it that far.

Halfway up she leans her shield and sword against the wall to rid herself of the weight, and notices a few smears of blood on the steps. Hawke’s, no doubt, although how the woman had any blood left in her body after the duel is beyond Aveline’s comprehension at the moment.

From above, she can hear Hawke’s voice, and finds herself smiling and shaking her head. Not even being skewered can dim Hawke’s buoyant good nature.

“So there I was, and I came at him with a feint and he was like UNGH! And then I spun and brought the sword around all BLAM! And the Arishok was AUUUGH! And then ---“

“Hawke, I can’t put UNGH and AUUUGH in my retelling! Those aren’t even real words!”

“Well, it’s what he said! Anyway, you can always make something up. AVELINE!!!””

Propped up in bed with her entire torso swathed in bandages, Hawke still tries to wave excitedly as the Guard-Captain stops at the doorway. A wince of pain and irritation makes Hawke lie back again while Anders’ hand hovers over her shoulder. “No sudden movements, I said!” the healer snaps. He looks exhausted – well, so does everyone – but his face has that pinched and shadowed look which Aveline associates with times he’s completely overreached himself while frantically healing them in the heat of battle. The fact that his only patient for the last day has been Hawke, who is still bedridden and obviously not getting up anytime soon, speaks to both the seriousness of her injuries and to the effort Anders expended just to keep her alive.

“Aveline, give us a hug!” exclaims Hawke, trying to motion her closer. “No hugs,” grumps Anders.

“You don’t want to hug me, Hawke. I smell of smoke and dead Qunari.”

“Now that you mention it, you do. Have you even been home yet?”

“I have.” Aveline can’t help seating herself heavily on a nearby chair. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

Hawke’s brow knits in concern. “Oh hell – was it burned?”

“No, just trampled, I guess you’d say. It will take some clean up and some repairs, but the structure is sound.”

“You’re going to stay here, then,” Hawke says decisively, trying to sit up again against Anders’ hand. “Maker’s breath, Anders; I’m not an invalid – “

“Yes, you _are,_ Hawke!”

“—I’ve got tons of extra room. Your home is my home, however long you need it.”

“I think that’s the other way around, Boots,” murmurs Varric, trying to hide a smile.

“That’s kind of you, Hawke, but I’ll be fine at the guard barracks. I should be there anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Hawke asks, anxiously. “Seriously, Aveline, it’s no trouble at all.”

“You can join the ‘keep Hawke in bed’ brigade,” says Varric. "We’re taking shifts.”

“No,” says Anders. “She’ll never get a moment’s rest that way.”

“I will too!” says Hawke irritably.

“I meant Aveline, not you.” Anders shoots Aveline a sharp look. “You’re dead on your feet. If you don’t want to stay here, at least please get yourself up to the barracks and get some rest before you fall over.”

“I will take that advice, Anders,” Aveline replies, climbing wearily to her feet. “I’m glad to see you’re recovering, Hawke. “

“How are things in the city?” Hawke asks, with the expression of a child desperate for “just one more” bedtime story.

“Things in the city are going to be fine, with a little time and a lot of work, and it will be there for you when you are finished recovering. So focus on that and you’ll be a great deal more help a lot faster.”

“Take _that_ advice yourself, Aveline,” Anders says with a smirk. Aveline quirks an eyebrow at him and he doesn’t need her to say out loud that he’d better do the same.

***

She’s a quarter of the way up the steps to the Viscount’s keep when she realizes she’s left her sword and shield leaning on the wall in the Hawke mansion. Grimly, she keeps moving upward, because she knows for a fact that she’s not going up the stairs a second time. Even so, she chides herself for a recruit.

Halfway up, she stops to rest and closes her eyes against the bone-deep ache in her body, the places where bruises have set in, and wonders if it will matter if she just sits down on the step and sleeps right there. That’s when a strong arm slides around her waist and the solid weight of Donnic props her up.

“Here you are,” he says. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Donnic. You’re a beautiful sight,” Aveline says, tilting her head up to meet warm brown eyes.

“So are you, love,” he replies.

Leaning against Donnic, Aveline at last makes it into the keep, up the foyer stairs (already cleaned and sparkling, courtesy of the Seneschal, she’s told) and down again into the barracks. As she starts to pull to the right, into the ward rooms, Donnic steers her left instead, toward the office.

“Donnic, we can’t sleep in the office,” she protests weakly, but isn’t up to offering much resistance.

“We can tonight,” he replies, “and until our house is repaired.” He opens the door.

“Oh, Donnic,” Aveline breathes.

He’s moved the furniture around and laid down a mattress large enough for the two of them, piled with blankets and pillows from home (all clean, Maker bless). Candles are lit throughout the room, and here and there a few of her favorite belongings are scattered –  a neatly folded pile of spare clothing, a few books, her favorite tea mug. In one corner he’s set up a tub and she can see the steam rising from hot water. There’s a simple but satisfying looking meal of bread, cheese and fruit laid out on her desk.

And next to it, catching the candlelight, is that damned copper relief of marigolds.

Aveline leans her head into Donnic’s chest and begins to laugh.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Will this do for a home away from home?”

“I’ll take it,” Aveline replies.

 

 


End file.
